Fortuitus
by Ferret2
Summary: [Fatum sequel] In which Draco's inner demons refuse to be ignored. Featuring murders, tension, and clashing worlds. [03]
1. Dark Clouds

_A/N I: Here is Fatum's sequel. Fortuitus IS a Latin word; I didn't mispell the word 'fortuitous'. =P Roughly translated, it means "accidentally, by chance, casual". Which is the exact opposite of 'fate' (the meaning of Fatum). . . . Oh I'm going somewhere with this. Anyways, I hope you like it. And for clarity's sake, this takes place one month after the whole Fatum storyline, which concluded exactly on October 31st. It is now December, and, yes, Christmas! What's a good drama without Christmas, right? Also, the issue of Dumbledore hasn't been mentioned at all in this first chapter because this is merely raising up a few skeletons. It will be addressed though, rest assured. For first-timers, I DO advise you to read Fatum first. I hate having to do that myself, so I apologize. oo Anyhoo, enough of this._

A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.  
— Jean De La Fontaine

**Fortuitus**

**Chapter One: Dark Clouds**  
By Jonah

Gray rain clouds swirled over the busy village of Hogsmeade, halting any last-minute shopping and driving civilians to find shelter. Bothered old women walked into the village shops, muttering their distaste for the planet's ludicrous weather, while children dragged their parents towards the nearest candy shop, all of them escaping the hail that fell without much warning.

Madam Rosmerta welcomed the incoming people — _customers_ — with a warm smile while magicking her shop so it would accommodate more. They all piled in gratefully, easily filling up the pub right down to its tiniest corners. Soon everyone settled down, and friendly chatter broke out as the rain continued outside. No one even noticed the three people in the back, hidden away in the farthest corner on the farthest booth, their heads bent and voices low.

Though why would they be noticed? There was nothing at all peculiar about the two men and woman — they blended in perfectly with the rest of the customers. They all wore the classic Christmas colors and drank the customary hot cocoa. No one in the entire shop even bothered to spare a glance their way, not even when one of the men suddenly burst into laughter.

"I can hardly see the humor in this," said the other man, glaring heated eyes to the first man who was struggling to control his laughter.

"That's always been _your_ problem," retorted the first man, grinning, "not mine."

Before the other man could reply, the woman held up a gloved hand, silencing them both. "Save it," she said, her tone harsh. "This is not the time nor place." She looked around them casually before leaning in. Both men quickly followed suit, their attitudes taking a drastic turn for the serious.

"He said it would begin soon," she whispered.

One of the men, the one who laughed, gawked at her. "Already?" he asked, his face twisting in confusion. "But it's only been a month — "

"He said we've waited long enough," the woman replied, "and that the time is right."

"When exactly?" the other man asked.

"Soon," was all she said.

"But we can't," the first man said. "We can't possibly… There's just too many in the way."

"Do either of you want to be the one to tell him that?" the woman asked. Both men stiffened and shook their heads. "No," they answered softly.

— — —

Draco woke up drenched in sweat. His eyes darted around the room as images of a dream quickly faded away. He sat up, cradling his head with his hands as he fought to keep his breathing even. It had been over a month of so since he'd woken up in a state like this, and part of him wondered for any connection. Idly, his eyes landed on the calendar just above his table, to the date with a large red circle marked around it. He closed his eyes. Or maybe it was just nerves.

It had been in the beginning of December when Ginny had asked him to have Christmas dinner with her family (his mother included, of course). Her eyes were so pleading that Draco just couldn't resist. Ginny, of course, knew he was reluctant, but she was happy he accepted. This would be Draco's first time to actually meet her family in a formal manner, and he was pretty sure half, if not all, weren't quite as happy about it as he was. Sure, the parents were easy enough; they were both in total awe and gratitude to Draco when word got to them at how he had given up his life for her. But the brothers… Well, that was a whole 'nother Quidditch match.

He got up from bed, ignoring the immediate chill that clung to his skin as he made his way to the bathroom that separated his room from his mother's. He hovered over the sink, looking into the mirror at the man he'd grown to be in the last month. Dark circles wrung his stormy eyes, souvenirs from the countless nights he'd spent awake, nightmares of his past too fresh for comfort. He traced the scar he had made on his right wrist, another lovely souvenir from his past 'adventure'. His stomach churned, the way it usually did whenever he thought about what happened that October. He tried not to do it so much, for it always left him feeling ill.

Though who was he to control what his own mind was thinking?

He dressed as comfortably as he could and left a note on the dining table for his mother before leaving the little London flat. He didn't Apparate til he reached Wizarding London, but even then there was still a bit of traveling to do before reaching his final destination. The boat he rode on creaked and swayed against the ocean's currents, evidence of winter in the harsh December winds.

"I rarely get any passengers," said the captain merrily. He was an odd sort of man named Normy and wore a bright yellow raincoat. He smiled at Draco, his gold tooth twinkling in the candlelight.

"Really," said Draco dully, showing no interest in having a conversation with the man. Sure enough, he was the only one on the boat, and the old man cackled heartily.

"Yep, days get rather boring with no one to sail," he said. He peered at Draco through one eye. "What brings you here, of all places, and on this very day even?" When Draco didn't answer, the man just chuckled. "Private sort of man, I see," he said, sounding amused (though Draco was sure it didn't take much for the man to get amused). "Why, I was just like you in my younger years," the man began, when Draco interrupted him.

"Is that it?" he asked, pointing at a mass of land in the horizon.

"Nope," said Normy, turning the boat slightly to the right. "That there's the Shetland Islands. No, we still got a bit of sailing to do before we reach the place." He chuckled lightly again, fortunately missing the pained look on Draco's face. "As I was saying," Normy started again, "I remember when I was just 50 years old, barely into my prime, and there was this hot little number named Candy. She was some piece of work, and I'll never forget what she told me that one night…"

Draco peered out of the boat's window, tuning Normy's trip down memory lane out. He watched as the waves crashed against the boat's old surface, idly wondering if he could be any more bored. He'd gotten to counting how many waves hit his side of the boat, and he was all the way up to 247 when Normy gave a loud cry of "Whoohoo!"

Draco looked away from the waves and up to the horizon to see a black shadow looming a short distance before them. Before he knew it, the boat made contact with the tiny island's shore. Normy gave him a large grin of triumph as Draco stood from his seat. "We made it, mate."

Draco gave him a curt nod before stepping unto the sand. He took a deep breath as he took in the large fortress standing before him. An old, rickety sign was swinging in the wind to his right, it's white letters standing out against the darkness of the island.

"Welcome to Azkaban Fortress," it read. There was a happy face painted underneath it, flashing Draco a devilish sort of grin.

Since Voldemort's downfall (the first time around), the Ministry removed all of the Dementors from the prison — especially since Voldemort had planned on using them for his own army. The prison was much more humane (for all those human right's activists constantly bothering the Minister about it), and visiting was even allowed.

Not that anyone ever did.

A large creature that was either a troll-like man or a man-like troll stood between him and the gates, parchment in one hand and a large axe in the other. "Name?" it boomed, raising a hairy eyebrow at Draco.

"Er, Draco Malfoy," he replied, then added, "I've got Ministry privilege." Since his little 'save the world' thing last October, the Ministry had been greatly generous towards him, and he, for one, planned to milk it for all it was worth.

The man-troll or troll-man gave a loud grunt after looking at his parchment, then stepped aside to let Draco through. The gates opened slowly, the loud creaking sounds proof that they had not been opened much. Draco strode in, shivering beneath his cloak as the wind whipped around him. He made a steady beeline for the cell he had in mind, completely ignoring the stares and calls the other prisoners were giving him as he walked past when he finally reached the farthest cell on the west wing. He stood frozen before it, his face giving away the surprise he felt from seeing the person inside. Slowly, the person turned her head to stare back at him, dark hazel eyes meeting stormy gray.

"Hello Pansy," Draco said softly. Pansy did not answer, though he knew she heard him. She was sitting inside a simple four-wall cell, three out of the four walls being solid stone. A thick wall of glass was all that stood between them, and while there were no openings, air, light, and sound still passed through it.

Pansy held Draco's gaze, without moving an inch. She was leaning against the right wall, her knees drawn up to her chest while she hugged herself. She wore the customary Azkaban robes — a dark red color that looked so much like that lipstick she used to wear. There was a moment of silence as the two regarded one another, when Blaise finally spoke, her voice as smooth as it had been a month ago. "Why are you here?" she asked him simply.

Draco did not know if how to answer, for he wasn't quite sure of it himself. Up til the little October incident, Pansy had been a rather good friend of his. She had been his best friend since they were little tykes, and were practically inseperable when they attended Hogwarts. She was quite good to talk with then, when she wasn't all over him, and he sympathized with her when she had become an orphan after the War. And as nasty as she was to him last they met, he just couldn't find it in his heart to stay mad at her. She was lost, just like he was; it was only unfortunate that she'd been found by the wrong sort.

"Happy Christmas," he said, unsure of what else he could say.

Pansy looked at him for a moment, before giving a loud, derisive snort. "Excuse me?" she asked, turning so she could look at him fully. "You come all the way here to wish me a _Happy Christmas_?" Venom and anger were all over her words, but Draco remained immune to it all.

"Yes," he answered simply.

"Why?" she asked suspiciously.

"Because," he said softly, "no one else will."

Pansy stared at him then, her face blank. Then it twisted with pain as his words hit home. She yelled suddenly and jumped up from her place to run to the wall that separated them, only to slam her fist against it. She screamed at him, banging her fist again and again as tears fell from her eyes.

"How dare you!" she screamed, her nails digging into the glass's surface. "How dare you come here!" She sobbed against the glass as Draco looked on, never moving from his place. When her tears had subsided, she looked up through her bangs to give him an icy glare. "You," she said through gritted teeth. "You think you can just show up and things would be just _fine_? _You're the reason I'm here_!"

"No," said Draco. "I'm not."

Pansy glared at him, her chest heaving from the shaky breaths she took. Slowly, her features softened into an empty stare. "That's a lovely cloak," she said randomly. Draco looked down at the black cloak his mother had gotten him a few weeks ago. He wondered where she was getting at.

"New?" she asked.

"Yes," he said cautiously.

Pansy smirked. "Where're you headed off to after this, hmm?" she asked. "A nice big dinner, I suppose. Yes, dinner and presents and hot cocoa with that _wench_." She spat the last word hatefully, her emotional mask slipping.

"She's not a wench," said Draco firmly.

Pansy scoffed. She scooted closer against the glass, to the point where her whole body pressed against it. "Are you happy, Draco?"

Draco frowned, taken aback by her randomness. "What?" he asked.

"Are you happy?" she repeated.

Draco blinked, boggled by her blunt question. "I-I…" Then his eyes widened, reality hitting him hard. Pansy grinned, her eyes glinting with madness.

He _wasn't_.

"I'm not surprised. People like us weren't made to be happy like that," Pansy told him as-a-matter-of-factly. "No matter how perfect your life may be, you will _never_ be happy. And do you want to know why?"

Draco didn't answer her, afraid because he really did.

"Because all those moments, all those loving words — they're not for you," she seethed. "You're not supposed to have a hero's life, because you were never supposed to be a hero. You were born a _bad guy_, Draco. And you can't run away from yourself."

Draco stared at her, his fingers feeling numb in the depths of his pockets. Pansy only continued to stare into his eyes, her own probing his in hopes to get into his mind. A few moments of silence passed as the two remained motionless. Then a loud gong rang four times throughout the fortress, telling him he was running late.

"Good-bye Pansy," he said, and without another word he began his walk back to the awaiting boat, never once looking back.

"Lovely time?" Normy asked as Draco boarded, and chuckled when he didn't answer. Draco spent the whole boat-ride back silent, his eyes rooted to the waves once again. He reached his flat just before five o'clock, where his mother was already dressed and waiting for him.

"Goodness, I was afraid you wouldn't make it back in time," she sighed in relief, holding up the little note he gave her which read, "Went for a walk".

He gave her a mirthless smile. "You look beautiful," he said honestly.

Narcissa blushed at his comment, raising a delicate hand to her cheek. "Thank you," she said. "I didn't know what to wear…" She had put on a lovely cream-colored dress robes, highlighting her ivory skin and platinum hair. It was nothing compared to her fancier dress robes, but she still looked like a goddess to Draco. She noticed the tension hovering around him, and frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he told her, trying his best to smile.

Narcissa gave him her own warm smile. "Nerves?" she asked. He nodded, lying. She gave a soft chuckle and hugged him. "Don't worry, they'll love you." Draco gave her a doubtful smile, which she shrugged at. "Well, they'll _try_ to, at least. Now come on, we mustn't be late." She began to drag him out of the flat, but Draco remained rooted to the ground.

"Mother," he whined (he had a tendency to do so whenever his mother was concerned, mostly because she always fell for it), "it's a minute Apparation away once we get to Wizarding London."

Narcissa only continued to pull him away. "I don't care," she told him, immune to her son's protests. "I will not risk us being late — it's bad manners." Draco made an over-dramatic sigh as he allowed himself to be dragged by his mother.

As it turned out, it was a good thing they left so early, for the last-minute Christmas shoppers were flooding both Muggle and Wizarding London. It took a while for them to finally get a chance to Apparate. They'd arrived on the secluded clearing just outside of Ottery St. Catchpole, just a few feet away from the… er, house. Draco had to remember that he was sort of seeing one of the occupants of the house because the comments were just fighting to get out of his mouth. He knocked on the front door gently, almost afraid of knocking the whole house down if he knocked too hard. There was a muffles of sounds on the other side (it sounded like three, no four, locks being undone), before the door finally opened to reveal Arthur Weasley, wearing robes of dark chocolate and a big smile.

"Happy Christmas!" he shouted, laughing merrily. "Come on in," he said, ushering them inside with his hand. They hadn't gotten even two steps inside when they were bombarded with an equally merry Molly Weasley.

"Oh Narcissa!" she said, hugging her tightly. "You look lovely!" Molly, herself, wore a lovely beige satin dress robe, that Draco suspected she was able to buy from the twins' booming sales. He turned away, biting deeply into his tongue, only to stare into a pair of icy blue eyes.

"Ferret," Ron said coldly.

"Weasel," Draco replied just as icily. There was a moment of steady glaring spent between them before someone cleared their throat.

"Happy Christmas," Hermione greeted, placing a firm hand on Ron's arm (probably to hold him back).

Draco blinked, turning to her in surprise. He hadn't even noticed her standing beside Ron. "H-Happy Christmas," he said back, slightly shaken. A certain shiny gem on a certain finger of Hermione's caught Draco's eye, but far be it for him to care about the Weasel's personal life.

Suddenly there was a girlish shriek from atop the stairs, and everyone turned to see Ginny running after Fred — or was it George? — waving her hairbrush around. "Come back here!" she shouted, chasing one of the twins as she swung her hand around.

"Ginevra Molly Weasley!" Molly shouted suddenly, her hands planted firmly on her hips. Immediately, Ginny and Fred/George stopped, flushed and their heads held low. "We have company!" she scolded.

Ginny turned to her mother, pointing an accusing finger at Fred/George. "George stole my pin!" she said, completely oblivious to the scene she was making.

Molly turned to George, eyes narrowed. "George…," she began threateningly, and George reluctantly chucked Ginny the said pin. She caught it with ease and stuck her tongue out at him before heading back into her room. George begrudgingly headed down the stairs, his shoulders slumped in boredom. Draco turned back to Ron and Hermione, who only looked as amused and confused as he did.

The front door swung open then (Arthur apparently forgot about his locks), and in walked Sirius, Remus, and Harry. "Happy Christmas!" they all shouted, and immediately hugs and small talk were administered. Draco chose to keep his distance from the hug-fest, vaguely watching as one of the twins tried to give Remus a Christmas cookie. He jumped when he felt two arms snake their way around him, and turned to see Ginny smiling up at him.

"Happy Christmas," she said, hugging him tightly.

He returned her hug, happy to be near her warmth. "Happy Christmas," he said back. He held her at arm's length after the hug to get a good look at her. She was wearing dress robes of emerald which looked striking when put against her red hair, which she let fall into curls over her shoulders. A shiny silver dragon pin was placed directly over her heart — the same pin she had nearly beaten George over the head with a hairbrush for, and the same pin he had given her a few weeks ago. "You're beautiful," he told her honestly, and she blushed.

"Thanks," she said. "You don't look so bad yourself. I must say you look like some sort of fallen angel." Indeed, as a striking contrast to his mother's cream robes, he wore his usual black. The only other color on his robes were the silver trimmings.

"That's me." He bent down to give her cheek a light peck, which Ginny welcomed happily. They hadn't exactly truly kissed yet — neither one of them felt it was right just yet. Especially when they hadn't even established just what 'they' were.

There was a loud "squawk!" before bowls of laughter rang throughout the house, and Draco turned just in time to see a brown chicken flapping its wings madly where Remus had been before it charged towards the twins, nipping at their heels. The laughter only grew as everyone watched the twins run away from the aggravated chicken.

"So is this a usual thing for you guys?" Draco asked.

"Pretty much," Ginny answered. "Come on," she said, tugging on his hand. "Before all the good seats are taken."

Dinner consisted of five courses Molly had cooked herself, and before long everyone was leaning back against their seat and patting their bellies approvingly. As everyone slowly recovered from the hearty meal, an odd conversation over old Muggle superstitions (and how wizards really were part of the blame) began around the table.

"All I'm saying is that Muggles are just plain paranoid," said Ron.

"Oh, really?" said Hermione dryly.

Ron's eyes snapped wide open. "Er, no, I mean _other_ Mugg… Ah, wait…" The words died as Hermione gave him an icy look. He gave her a weak smile that she only rolled her eyes at.

"It's interesting, though," said Arthur. "They've got superstitions over just about everything."

"So do wizards," said Hermione defensively, though her tone was laced with respect.

"That we do," chuckled Sirius. "I heard of one about ravens… That if you see one flying overhead, it's a sign of good luck. But if you see more than one, then it means trouble's ahead."

"How cryptic," frowned Remus.

Sirius only shrugged. "Most superstitions are."

Soon enough, the conversation died down and the boys retreated to the clearing out back, where they spent a respectable amount of time trying to teach Remus how to play Quidditch while the girls remained warm and comfy beside the fireplace. Draco, deciding it was better that he didn't set himself up as a Bludger target, settled for sitting in the living room with the women, where Narcissa was currently examining the ring on Hermione's left ring finger.

"Oh it's beautiful," Narcissa cooed, turning Hermione's hand this way and that.

"Thank you," Hermione grinned sheepishly, her cheeks tinted red.

"Do you have a date set?" So I was right, mused Draco. He and Ginny had taken the loveseat across from the two women.

"Not yet," said Hermione. "We were thinking perhaps June."

"Ah, a spring wedding," Narcissa said, "that's a lovely time."

"Quite," said Molly, who'd walked in with a tray full of hot chocolate. "I was telling Ron it gave them a perfect amount of time to prepare. Now when his brother Bill got married, oh! He'd only proposed three months before their wanted date — it was madness!"

Beside him, Ginny yawned. "Tired?" he whispered, and she shook her head.

"Not at all," she told him. "It hasn't even reached midnight yet — I'm in for the long haul."

"Mm," he answered, his mind elsewhere. He tried his best to absorb it all. That he was, in fact, at the Weasley's — alive, even — watching his mother talk weddings with Molly and Hermione, with Ginny cuddled up against his chest. It should have made him happy, content, at least, to have all that with him. But he wasn't. _Why wasn't he?_ Was Pansy right? Was he really not who he should be? Would he really rather be happier tormenting the Weasleys instead of dining with them?

His troubled mind must have been obvious in his face because Ginny had poked his roughly in the ribs. "What's up?" she asked him quietly — the women were still talking amiably about weddings. She looked so genuinely concerned that it hurt to look at her.

He set his gaze at the dancing firelight instead of Ginny's face. There was a ripple of giggles as Molly recanted her own wedding, and Draco felt the air around him thicken. Swiftly, he got up from his seat, leaving Ginny to prop herself up. "I think I'll take a walk," he muttered, before walking out the door.

Once outside, he let out a deep breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The Weasley's front lawn proved to be relatively small compared to the large clearing out back, where Draco could hear vague sounds of cheering and cracks of the bat against an enchanted rock (their make-shift Bludger). He watched idly as dark little figures danced between the rosebushes, each sparing a second to give him a curious glance before hiding away into their little gnome-holes.

"You're awfully quiet tonight," came a voice from somewhere behind him. Ginny had wrapped a blanket around herself, and sidled up beside him to stare at the same dead rosebush he'd been looking at. "What's wrong?"

"Can't you tell?" he asked her, and she bristled.

"I can only read your feelings, not your mind," she answered shortly. "So tell me."

He shrugged lazily, his eyes never leaving the bush. "I've got a lot on my mind, is all."

"Mm-hmm," replied Ginny, urging him to continue. She frowned when he didn't. "This must be big."

He shrugged again, eyes glazed over in thought. "Am I a hero, Ginny?"

Ginny turned to him, taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"Just as I asked," he said as he turned to face her. "Am I a hero?"

Ginny frowned. "Well… You saved my life."

"That makes me a hero?"

"That makes you _my_ hero," she said, and reached out to give his arm a gentle squeeze. "What's this about?"

He blinked once, seeming to contemplate her words, then turned away again. "Nothing."

"Yeah right," said Ginny, now genuinely concerned. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong," he said with a firm voice that meant the discussion was over.

Ginny frowned, backing off. She hated how distant he could be sometimes, especially when he was supposed to be sharing things with her. That's what people in love do, wasn't it? Granted, they'd only been 'seeing' each other for a little over a month but their feelings were pretty much established before then.

Well… _Hers_ was. Draco still hadn't exactly said the words "I love you" to her, _per se_… But he risked his life her for, didn't he? What else could it be but love to push for something like that? And besides, there was the whole 'knowing what he felt' thing… She'd gotten pretty good at it, but damned if she wasn't even more confused by it, for what good was knowing what he felt when she doesn't know what brought it along? Or anything else about it, for that matter.

She peeked at Draco through the corner of her eyes. He was looking up at the sky now, though she could tell he was lost in thought by the way his brows were knitted together. There were times when he was so open with his feelings, especially those concerning her, but other times he could be such a mystery…

She sighed. Quite frankly, she was tired of puzzles.

— — —

"No, Moony — use the handle!" Sirius shook his head solemnly as Remus managed to do everything _but_ what he said. Perhaps his friend was just not the Quidditch type…

"He's getting better," said Harry, who was hovering beside him. Sirius gave him a look. He shrugged defensively. "Well he _is_."

Sirius nodded sadly. "I guess you're right. I mean he hasn't fallen off yet, which is definitely a first for Remus…" He grimaced when a loud 'thump' filled the air. "Never mind."

"Aren't you going down there to help him?" asked Harry.

"Nah," said Sirius, squinting at the lump that was his friend. He grinned when the lump proceeded to stand up and wipe himself off. "He'll be fine."

"Mm," said Harry, a ghost of a smile on his face.

Sirius turned to him, quickly catching the sudden drop in mood from his godson. "Hey," he said. Harry turned to him, looking dazed. "Problem?"

Harry blinked, looking lost before recognition took over. "Oh! Oh no… No, none…" He trailed off, frowning.

"None, huh?" Sirius inched his broom closer to Harry so that he could nudge him with his elbow. "You want to tell me what's on your mind?"

Harry shrugged offhandedly. "It's probably nothing, really," he began, "but, I don't know… I just get this feeling that…" His brows knitted together as he frowned again.

"That?" Sirius urged. He'd been worried for a while — Harry had been acting weird lately. It seems every time Sirius looked at him, he looked troubled.

"I don't know," Harry sighed, reaching up to ruffle his hair as he thought. "I've just been getting this weird feeling that… that something's up."

Sirius frowned. "What do you mean?"

He ruffled his hair again. "I don't know," he said again. "I can't really explain it but it's just this feeling that something big is about to happen. Something bad."

"You sure it's not just a full stomach?" Sirius joked.

Harry shook his head, looking deathly serious. "No… I've had it for a while now…"

Sirius' smile faded. "For how long?"

"Couple of weeks…"

Sirius shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you, Harry," he said, nervously scratching the back of his ear. "The normal thing to say would be that it's probably nothing… but then again, you aren't exactly normal…"

Harry smiled softly, yet his eyes looked sad. "Yeah…"

The two fell into a tense silence. Harry kept his eyes downcast, looking so whimsically sad that Sirius hurt for him. He tore his eyes to look at anything other than the younger man beside him. His gaze finally rested on the sky above him.

A sick feeling of dread overwhelmed him as he saw a large black cloud fly over, the calling sound of ravens filling his ears.

— — —

"What do you think, Inspector?"

Inspector Maguire surveyed the scene in front of him, scratching the back of his head in confusion. Nothing about it made sense. There was just no way… He bent down to rest on one knee and looked hard. There must be _something_ he missed. He shook his head in frustration. Nothing. He stood up again, his eyes closed in concentration. Mentally, he retraced his steps, back to the call that brought them there. It was the daughter, who'd just gotten home from a party when she found her father…

Maguire sighed, opening his eyes to look at the body again. He was definitely dead, alright. There was no doubt about it. But there wasn't a scratch on him. There were no items around him and nothing seemed at all out of place. According to the girl, nothing was missing. Poison was ruled out because the victim held no symptoms of ever being intoxicated. His eyes were closed and had an expression of perfect peace.

It just made no sense. He was missing something. He _knew_ he was. But what?

"Inspector?"

Maguire turned to his lieutenant, looking grave. "Get headquarters on the phone."

_A/N II: Smash or trash? oo 'Cuz if no one likes it, then... chucks plot/story out the window_


	2. The Tip of the Iceburg

**Fortuitus**

Chapter Two: The Tip of the Iceburg  
By Jonah

_She was late._

Another glance at the ticking cuckoo clock told him that it was now 12:17, a full seventeen minutes past curfew. He got up from his comfortable armchair to spare another look between the curtains to the front lawn.

No sign of her yet.

Ignoring the silent calling of his favorite chair, he began to pace around the living room, evening newspaper tightly tucked beneath his arm. He knew he shouldn't have allowed her to go to that stupid party. Silly of him to believe she would actually be home before midnight. He could just imagine the 'partying' his dear daughter was doing — the alcohol, the boys…

He paused his pacing to make a silent prayer that his daughter was not shacked up in some room with a boy somewhere.

Another look, and she was now eighteen minutes late. Oh how his daughter would surely feel his wrath when she returned. He didn't care if she cried — it was the least she deserved for putting him through such worry. That and the fact that she lied to him.

Nineteen minutes. Revenge would be sweet.

The light creaking of the floorboards signaled her arrival. He hid a vicious smile. She was a sneaky one, trying to tip-toe around so he wouldn't wake up. Little did she know that he was already awake and waiting.

Finally disposing the newspaper from his grasp, he made his way towards the front door, his mouth already forming the words he would surprise her with.

"Hold it right there, young la… Hey, who're you?" His practiced words had died in his mouth upon seeing the figure standing before the door that was definitely not _his daughter._

"How did you get in here?" He squinted his eyes, willing his old eyes to adjust to the dark. He watched curiously as the figure raised a hand, holding something that looked like a long, thin stick.

"What — "

A bright green flash of light suddenly invaded his line of vision, and he knew no more.

"AUGH!"

Draco found himself sitting upright on his bed, his legs tangled into his sheets, his pillows somehow winding up on the floor. His breathing came in ragged gasps as sweat poured profusely all over his body. Visions of a dream fleeted through his mind leaving his eyes wide and panicked. Unwillingly, his mind began processing those images, working, twisting, and bending them to trigger some sort of recognition on his part.

Suddenly, almost instinctively, a strangled cry escaped his throat and he jumped back on his bed, scrambling backwards until the cold, solid feeling of his headboard met his back. His mind had stopped its manipulations, the images hanging in some sort of suspended animation that he saw in his mind's eye, his own physical ones staring blankly into nothing.

The dream had felt so real. So realistic had it been that he still felt a tiny bit of anger for some unknown daughter of his, lingering somewhere in the depths of his chest. Like some sort of button was pressed, the dream replayed over in his mind. Desperately, Draco shut his eyes, but the images only flickered with intensity against his eyelids. He opened his eyes and raised shaky hands to touch the sides of his head, gently massaging the temples in hopes to drive the images away.

No dice.

He had now reached some sort of peak and was digging furiously into his temples, nearly growling as the images refused to go away.

A sharp rap on his bathroom door paused his ministrations, his mother's voice floating into the dark room.

"Draco? Are you alright?" Her voice was laced with unhidden worry and her knocking became persistent.

"I-I'm alright!" he shouted, desperately willing his body to stop shaking.

His mother continued to knock. "I heard you scream."

"It was just a nightmare — I'm fine now!"

Her knocking had stopped, but he knew she had yet to move away from the door. "Are you sure?" she asked. Her tone was so worried and motherly that Draco's heart ached to lie to her.

"Yes," he said, dropping his head into his hands. There was a moment of silence before he heard the shuffling of feet behind the door, and the soft click of his mother's door closing. Finally, he allowed himself to sigh loudly. The images had diminished a considerable amount, but he could still see flashes of them when his eyes were closed.

He fell back into his bed and stared at his ceiling. The glowing numbers hovering over his bed-side table told him there were still a few hours before morning. His body ached of fatigue but his eyes remained open and staring.

He did not trust himself to sleep.

x x x

Harry pursed his lips in deep concentration, the tip of his tongue only poking slightly out. A shaky hand shot up to wipe the sweat off his brow, his green eyes squinting the way they usually did when he was thinking hard. Finally, he drew in a shaky breath, his hand slowly coming up while the other gripped it steady.

Just a little bit more…

Yes!

Harry released the breath he had been holding, slumping back into his chair as he looked on in proud triumph over what he'd accomplished.

"Your turn, mate."

He grinned behind the proud stack of cards, which had grown to be over two feet tall. The tallest point was his very own card, the Queen of Hearts, sitting silently atop two other. The game had reached its ultimate high now; a mere exhale in the wrong direction could send it toppling over.

"Ron?" he said tauntingly, enjoying the way the man twitched ever other second.

"I'm concentrating!" Ron shushed. He was staring intently at the house, inspecting it from every angle while he muttered possibilities to himself. Harry wasn't sure how long it took him to finally make the full 360 inspection, but he sure knew when it ended.

"Eureka!" Ron shouted, punching an arm into the air. He stuck out the other arm, his hand firmly grasping the last card, the King of Spades, while he gave Harry a measuring stare. "Prepare to have your arse whipped."

Harry only scoffed. "Big talk."

Ron ignored him completely as he set aside to work completely on the house. He kept his arms as steady as possible, and ever-so-slowly lowered the card. Harry leaned in slightly, watching as Ron set the card down and quickly moved his hands away. The house swayed and both men held on to their breaths. It was any man's game now as the house continued to tilt and sway.

Then suddenly —

SLAM.

The two men watched, stupefied, as the house of cards came tumbling down. Bitter footsteps made their way over to the living room, accompanied by angry muttering.

"Hullo Sirius," Harry sighed gloomily, picking at the cards on the table.

Sirius only continued to mutter under his breath as he heavily tossed himself on the empty arm chair he'd long ago claimed as his and his alone. Harry and Ron exchanged curious glances before completely forgetting about the cards and turning towards the ex-convict in interest.

"Trouble in paradise?" Ron asked with a half-smile.

His answer came in the form of one very rude hand gesture.

"I see," nodded Ron, wisely opting not to sit within arm-length.

"What's up?" Harry asked gently. It was certainly not unlike Sirius to be quite rash, but he'd usually play along with Ron.

Sirius shook his head, his frown looking permanent. "I've got to go back again tonight."

"Again?" Harry asked, frowning. "That's the third night this week."

"The crime rate's only tripled in the last week," Sirius sighed heavily, allowing his face to drop into the cup of his hands. "Now the lot of us are stuck with all the paperwork those damn Aurors keep bringing in."

"I don't understand it," said Ron. "The crime's never been this bad before, even in the holiday season… You don't think something's going down, do you?"

"I doubt it," frowned Sirius. "These crimes are mostly petty things…"

"It's puzzling though," Ron persisted. "Crime, even petty crime, never really gave us that much of a bother before."

Harry shrugged, reaching over the pack of cards for a folded newspaper. "It was probably just bound to happen anyway," he said as he buried himself into it. "Wizards are still people after all."

Ron nodded, but frowned anyway. Then something caught his eye. "Hey, Harry…" Harry poked his head out from behind the paper to look at him. "What newspaper is that? The pictures aren't moving."

"Hmm? Oh!" Harry laughed. "It's a Muggle newspaper. I buy some issues from time to time, just to keep myself posted."

"You think I could borrow it when you're done? Hermione might like to 'keep posted' too."

"Sure."

A second of silence.

"Hello?!" Sirius cried, waving his arms around to successfully get the two men's attentions again. "What about _me_? Remember _me_? What about _my_ problems?"

Ron and Harry looked at him, then at each other, then carried on with what they were doing.

x x x

Ginny sighed.

"Uh oh. That's not a happy sigh." Hermione smiled gently as she handed Ginny a cup of tea. They were inside the living room of the older girl's apartment. Ginny was currently occupying one half of the loveseat while Hermione nestled herself into a chair directly opposite. There was still a few days left in Ginny's winter vacation, something she recently realized she had always taken for granted.

Hermione lifted the mug in her hands, stopping just a few inches short of her lips. "Is there something wrong?"

Ginny shrugged, watching as her tea simmered. "I'm not sure," she said in all honesty.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with Draco, would it?" Hermione asked, a coy smile peaking out from behind her mug.

The younger girl blushed. "Am I that obvious?"

"Not terribly so," Hermione laughed softly. "But I _do_ recognize the symptoms."

Ginny let out a loud and dismal sigh as she fell into the loveseat's cushions. "I don't know, but lately I've been getting this feeling that Draco's hiding something from me."

"Something important?"

"Something _very_ important." Ginny frowned in thought. She raised her hand to fidget with the silver dragon pin on her shirt. "I even tried feeling it out, but I ended up with nothing."

"I'm not so surprised," sighed Hermione. "Your powers are purely empathetic. If he's hiding something, you'd only be able to sense that, but not whatever it is."

Ginny pulled a face. "I hate it when you talk like some psychologist studying me."

Hermione only smiled brightly. "Oh, but I _am_ studying you," she reminded cheerfully. "And what a thoroughly intriguing study it is, too. Since the October incident, your powers have grown steadily. Of course, they only work towards Draco, but the fact of it is still very thrilling."

Ginny could only roll her eyes as she twisted her position the loveseat so that her upper body was now dangling down and her legs kicked lightly in the air. "I'm just some fascinating new guinea pig for you, aren't I?" she pouted, playfully.

Hermione chuckled. "Yes, and my best friend too." Her smile faded a bit, and her tone grew serious. "If he's hiding something from you, I'm afraid the only thing you can do is wait until he tells you himself."

Ginny's legs stopped kicking. Her fingers continued to play with the pin. "But what if he doesn't?"

"You'll just have to trust that he will."

Silence filled the small living room as Ginny mulled over her friend's words. It seemed simple enough. She just had to trust him. Trust Draco Malfoy. 

The irony of it made her smile.

"So," Hermione said casually as she put her mug down only to replace it with a notepad and quill. "Is there anything new going on with your powers that I should take note of?"

Ginny knitted her brows in thought. "Well, yesterday I caught him lying when he said he liked your mincemeat pie."

Hermione's quill quivered slightly as Ginny gave her a large grin. "Very funny," the brunette muttered darkly as Ginny's legs began kicking again.

A knock on the door got Hermione to forget about her notes and answer it, leaving Ginny alone in the living room to hum to herself. "Oh just who I wanted to see!" Hermione said, happily bouncing back into the living room, a confused Draco following slowly after her.

A loud squeak escaped Ginny's mouth upon seeing him, and she scrambled to get into an upright position. By the time she was done, Hermione was already in her seat with her pad and quill in hand. Ginny's cheeks burned as Draco quirked a brow in her direction. She could literally feel his amusement hovering around his body like an aura, only adding in her embarrassment.

"Why did you want to see me?" Draco asked Hermione, though his eyes never left Ginny's rosy-hued face.

"I just have a few questions, that's all," smiled Hermione, and motioned for him to take the other half of the loveseat. Ginny could still sense a bit of anxiety in Draco's part, probably because he still had a hard time handling Hermione's sudden friendliness after the October incident. Ginny, too, found it a bit odd, but Hermione had always been very considering when it came to her feelings. She supposed it was just Hermione's way of showing her friendship and support, to be able to throw down all fences and accept Draco as someone important to Ginny. Her brother, on the other hand…

"Now," said Hermione casually once Draco had finally seated himself. Ginny's face was still burning. "If neither of you mind, I just want to run a few tests on Ginny's powers by asking a few questions and observing. This means, Draco, that you will be exposed — emotion-wise, of course."

Neither of her two guests said anything, merely stared at her, which she took as a good enough invitation as any.

"Terrific!" she smiled, and immediately began firing. "So, Ginny, without even trying, can you sense a bit of Draco's emotions right now?"

"Yes," Ginny answered awkwardly.

Hermione's quill zoomed by her pad. "And what are they?"

"…Complicated," Ginny frowned, and turned to look at Draco when Hermione suddenly stopped her.

"Don't look at him yet," she said firmly, without taking her eyes of her pad as she wrote. When she finally looked up, her face was serious. "Now concentrate, Ginny. Probe into his feelings, try to figure them out."

Sighing, Ginny stared at Draco's profile. His face told nothing, a veritable mask of calmness as he stared straight ahead. Concentrating, Ginny reached into his mind and heart, imaginary fingers poking and probing as she tried to pick his feelings apart. She felt nothing at first, then, like some of switch had turned on, they came to her in a tidal wave, invading her senses and nearly knocking the wind out of her.

"Ginny?" came Hermione's soft yet firm voice.

"Huh?" Ginny turned to face her, dizzy and dazed.

"Have you figured them out?"

Ginny blinked once, then twice, before dropping her gaze to stare intently at her hands. When she answered, her voice was small but honest. "No."

Hermione said nothing as she scribbled something on her pad. "Did you feel anything, Draco?"

It was a moment before he answered. His voice was empty. "I felt her in me. She was… probing."

Hearing the words come from his mouth made Ginny wince. Draco suddenly felt cold beside her. Hermione seemed to not notice the sudden tension between them, for she continued on.

"Okay, Draco, can you focus on just one emotion? Ginny, I want you to try and see if you can figure that one out."

And suddenly the coldness was gone, and in its place Ginny felt an air of mischief. Draco's lips had quirked up a millimeter. Ginny turned back to stare at Draco, concentrating, reaching. Then her eyes widened and her cheeks and ears burned furiously. Quickly, Ginny turned away. She sat stiffly with her hand placed precariously on top of her lap as she tried her best to hide her blushing face from Hermione's observant eyes.

Alas, for it was in vain.

"Ginny? What did you sense?"

Beside her, Draco chuckled softly. Ginny mentally cursed him, her hands formed into tight, shaking fists on her lap.

And still, Hermione persisted. "Ginny?"

"I… don't want to say," Ginny said stiffly. Oh, she must look like a tomato!

Hermione blinked. Then it hit her. "Oh," she breathed, a hand flying up to her mouth as she glanced from Ginny's embarrassed face to Draco's smug one. Oh _my_.

She let out a nervous giggle and tossed her pad and quill to the side. "Well that's enough of this for today," she said, feeling her own cheeks begin to burn. "Excuse me, I think I left something on…" Then she got up and left the room as quickly as she could.

The minute she was gone, Ginny smacked Draco's arm. "You pervert!" she hissed, as Draco howled in laughter. He didn't even try to defend himself as Ginny continued her one-handed attacks.

"Y-You should've seen your face!" Draco laughed, until Ginny gave him a rough poke in the ribs. "Ow!" he shouted, sourly rubbing at the spot. "That hurt."

"It's nothing less than what you deserve." Ginny stuck her tongue out before turning away from him to sit stubbornly with her arms crossed. "Jerk."

Draco's shoulders shook with his silent laughter. "Honestly, your face…"

"Shut up," Ginny fumed. "You're such a guy, I can't believe you. I'd never felt so embarrassed in my life."

"Embarrassed… or heated?" Draco had leaned into her, to the point where his lips were hovering slightly beside her ear. She nearly shivered from his warm breath.

Then she pushed him away, only to have him laugh again. "Stop toying with me," she warned him. "_Never_ do that again."

"Bloody serves you and Granger right," sniffed Draco. "Honestly, dragging me along into your little science project."

Ginny sighed, her anger leaving her. "You're right, I'm sorry. Hermione just tends to let her intellectual quests get the better of her sometimes."

"No kidding," Draco muttered.

Ginny smiled at him then, a devilish sort of smile, before snuggling up close. "So what were you thinking about?"

But before he could answer, Hermione had reentered, looking only slightly embarrassed. She was holding a mug in her hand, which she promptly handed over to Draco.

"So what brings you here?" she asked, as if the past events hadn't even occurred. "I didn't know you knew where Ron and I lived."

"I came by the Burrow to visit Ginny," he said a bit stiffly. "One of the twins told me how to get to her."

"Really?" Ginny said, interested, surprised. "Just like that?"

Draco sniffed the air haughtily. "Malfoys have marvelous persuasion skills."

"You got lost, didn't you?"

"Bleeding directions were nothing but crap," Draco muttered sourly.

"So how did you manage to find your way?" Hermione asked.

"Skill."

"Which translates to 'pure luck'," Ginny said dryly and giggled when Draco huffed. He opened his mouth to make a biting reply when the loud shouts of, "'Mione? Where are you?" signaled the arrival of Ron and Harry. Automatically, Draco groaned. Ginny only giggled, and soon enough her brother and Harry walked into the room.

The air immediately stilled. Ron stopped walking the moment he saw Draco with Harry just a few feet beside him. His blue eyes immediately hardened upon seeing his school enemy sitting on _his_ furniture, in _his_ home, speaking with _his_ fiancé, and sitting way too close to _his_ baby sister.

Ginny felt she could cut the tension with a knife.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Ron finally asked.

"He's just answering some questions for me," Hermione came quick to say. Her tone was a reprimanding one, and Ron was quick to recognize it. Immediately the tension dissipated and Harry let out an uncomfortable laugh.

"You really have to stop treating them like guinea pigs, you know," he joked, finally mustering up enough strength to move into the couch beside them. It took a few moments before Ron could get his legs to work but when he did, he absolutely refused to meet Draco in the eye as he walked past to sit with Harry.

It was only when he made contact with the cushions did he suddenly remember something. "Oh, 'Mione," he began, holding out the folded newspaper he'd been holding. "Here's some Muggle newspaper. Harry bought it; I thought you'd like to catch up."

"Oh, wonderful!" gasped Hermione, immediately snatching up the papers to bury herself into it. "I'd been missing an awful lot of Dear Abby's…" Ron sent Harry a puzzled look that he just waved his hand at.

Ginny smiled, wishing moments with her friends where they weren't at each other's throats were more frequent. She turned to stare at the man beside her, who'd immediately silenced once her brother had arrived. She supposed she'd just have to get used to it, though the thought didn't make it any easier.

She watched as Draco stifled a yawn, and suddenly noticed the bags under his eyes. She frowned and wondered why she hadn't noticed them before; they stood out so plainly against the paleness of his skin. They were dark and deep and made him looks years older than he should have. He was lacking sleep, that much was sure. But why?

There was a sharp intake of breath somewhere beside her, and it took her a while before she realized it had come from Draco, himself. His eyes had widened and his mouth hung open, though not so much that it caught anybody else's attention.

A wave of emotion washed over her, only it wasn't her own. She stared, shocked and dizzy from the amount of emotion he was feeling. A horrible, twisting knot formed in her stomach and she flinched from the intensity of it.

Draco was afraid. And terribly so.

She struggled to keep calm, but Draco's fear was quickly overwhelming her. Without warning, Draco's hand shot up to snatch the paper from Hermione's hands, making her gasp in surprise. Ron and Harry were on their feet in an instant, the scent of foul play triggering their defenses. Ginny threw up her hands; she wanted to stop the fight that was sure to come. Ron and Harry were shouting at Draco, indignant and outraged.

But Draco ignored them, his eyes burrowed into the newspaper he was now pinning to the coffee table between them. His was choking on his breaths, trying desperately to keep calm. His eyes were wide in panic and confusion.

Ginny dropped down to her knees by his side, her arms coming up to wrap around his arms and shoulders. "Draco, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice trembling from her own fear. She could hear his own heartbeat pounding away in her ears.

The shouting had stopped. The room grew eerily silent as everyone watched Draco, stunned. Slowly, almost in dread, they turned to look at what Draco was staring at.

It was a picture.

A simple, black and white picture of a middle-aged man on vacation. He was smiling, the structure of Big Ben standing proudly over his shoulder.

He was also dead.

Large, bold letters crowned the picture. It read, "_Man Found Dead; Cause Unknown_".

Tension and fear evolved into confusion as Ginny stared at the picture. She did not recognize him at all. He was a Muggle, and apparently not one of important stature. Did Draco know him? It seemed too impossible to grasp. But from the way he was reacting… He looked as if he'd seen a ghost.

"Draco?" Ginny tried again, softer this time.

"I have to go," he said suddenly, surprising everyone in the room. He jumped up, one hand desperately clutching the newspaper as he stumbled his way towards the door. There was a turn and a click, and Draco was gone.

Ginny remained on the floor, staring off where she had seen him last.

"Does anyone care to explain all that?" Harry said, breaking the silence.

Ginny frowned. She could still feel his fear.

x x x

The lights outside of his office died; the last of his co-workers had gone home for the day.

Maguire remained glued to his seat, looking through the documents he had scattered over his desk by what little light his dinky office offered.

Headquarters had laughed at his decision of murder concerning the latest case. There was just no evidence that pointed to it. But his gut practically screamed homicide the moment he took a look at the body, and he'd learned to always trust his gut.

Which brought him to his current position — spending the last of his holiday break working on a seemingly impossible case. He didn't mind it much; his mother-in-law was still visiting, after all.

He actually had some sort of pattern going on; he'd reach over his desks for a few papers, skim through them, find absolutely _nothing_ helpful, frown, then toss them away. He was getting pretty good at it too, and was thinking he might not even _need_ to frown the next time when something caught his eye. Excited, he clutched the paper he held with both hands, almost afraid it might disappear. His eyes zoomed through it once, then twice, then another time just to make sure.

There was no mistaking it. Completely identical matches. He almost expected the ceiling to open up and a choir of angels to sing "Halleluiah".

He didn't even try to hold back the grin that invaded his mouth as he began dialing for Headquarters. 


	3. Quicksand

**Fortuitus  
Chapter Three: Quicksand**  
By Jonah

Maguire tried not to look too uncomfortable. He leaned into the back of his seat, clammy hands falling into his lap where he laced his fingers in an attempt to keep the shaking to a bare minimum. In actuality, he was very rarely a nervous sort of man; his line of job simply didn't permit such flaws.

Still.

It wasn't everyday you get to meet the Prime Minister.

He still didn't quite believe he was where he was, sitting with who he was sitting with. A tiny part of him half-suspected that Headquarters was just playing some nasty little trick on him, that the old man sitting before him wasn't really the Prime Minister, but his boss, silently sniggering behind the papers he held.

And yet, there was no mistaking it. He was actually sitting in the Prime Minister's office.

The office was remarkably simple — simple for a Prime Minister, that is. It was your basic four-walled room, albeit slightly larger than a common bedroom, complete with the mandatory desk, window, and fireplace. The window, itself, was shut tight, effectively keep the harsh winter winds from entering. The fireplace was lit and flickering, the tiny crackle of embers sounding off every now and then. The furnishings were similar to that of Maguire's office — a few photos of the family, some books littering an old bookshelf, and, sitting just above the fireplace mantle, was a small flower pot. It was an ordinary pot, really, orange-red and made of clay, but it made Maguire's investigator senses tingle. It would have looked innocent enough.

Now if it only held a flower…

Maguire swallowed the lump that had been forming in his throat, and his leg began to involuntarily bounce on its toes. Directly seated across from him was England's one and only Prime Minister, currently looking over the papers Maguire had presented him a few moments ago. A deep frown was hidden beneath a bushy mustache and a set of cold gray eyes flitted from left to right and back again as he compared the two documents he held up.

After a moment of quiet nodding and deep frowning, the Prime Minister laid the documents down and met Maguire's anxious eyes.

"My, my," said the Minister. He let out a deep sigh, though it sounded more bothered than worried. "There's no doubting the similarities," he said, frowning ever more.

"So you agree with me, sir?" Maguire could not stop himself to ask.

"Yes, I do," the Minister sighed again, sounding somewhat reluctant. He had laced his hands together, looking tall and imposing as he sat straight. "How very unfortunate."

Maguire blinked. "The death, sir?"

The Minister regarded him for a moment, looking blank. Then he blinked and began to nod. "Yes, the death… of course…" He trailed off, looking thoughtfully at his hands.

Maguire stared. The man sitting before him couldn't be the Prime Minister. He seemed too… human. And very tired.

Then suddenly the Minister looked up, looking like the strong, prominent political figure Maguire was used to seeing on the television. "Thank you for your research, Inspector," the Minister said. "I will be sure to speak highly of you to your superiors."

Maguire paused, taken aback. "But — sir? Aren't you curious about these deaths? The similarities — they can't be coincidental, they're too perfect."

"Indeed," the Minister frowned even deeper, "but, according to your research, the investigation of the first deaths failed to determine a cause. What do you propose I do, Inspector, if I have no precedent to go on?"

"I… Nothing, sir," sighed Maguire. "I'm proposing nothing." He shook his head, unable to let it go. "But it's just too odd…"

"The gap between these deaths is almost six decades," the Minister flatly pointed out.

"Yes, sir," nodded Maguire. "Forgive my persistence, I just can't seem to let it go."

"I understand, Inspector," said the Minister, "but I suggest that you do. There's simply nothing we can do now."

Maguire nodded, numb. "Yes, sir."

"Now if you'll excuse me," the Minister said, "I've an important call to make…"

"Of course." Maguire stood, bowed in respect, and turned towards the door. "It was an honor to meet you, Prime Minister." He managed to get one last look of the man of high importance, and frowned curiously as he could have _sworn_ the Prime Minister had turned towards the fireplace, flower-less flower pot in hand.

* * *

When he was barely even five, Draco Malfoy had ridden his first broom. It was one of the House Elve's sweeping brooms, enchanted to follow the young Malfoy around and sweep up whatever mess he happened to create. He had hated that broom with a passion, so when it came in to clean up a pile of papers he had just so carefully worked on shredding, his temper flared and suddenly the broom stopped, paused in mid-sweep. He still was not quite sure what possessed him to mount the thing, but he did, and, in his first ever show of magic, enchanted the broom to fly him around the Manor's lower living area. Needless to say, he more than made up for the loss of his shredded paper.

But, as luck would have it, he was spared of any punishment, in the midst of showing signs of possessing magic (his parents had never mentioned it to him, but what they thought were signs of a Squib was nothing more than evidence of a late bloomer). And so, young Draco was quickly enrolled into the area's finest broom-riding academy. It was no walk in the park, to be sure, for he spent many nights aching in bed, sore from the day's earlier training. But his stamina and endurance were strengthened, not to mention the blossoming of his love for Quidditch.

And yet, running down the street like he was now, thirteen years later, panting openly with his back drenched in sweat, it was evident that Draco had not trained in a long while. All signs of ever having graduated top in his class at the broom-riding academy were void as he snaked his way around the pedestrians of Hogsmeade, trying his best not to knock anyone down. His breathing was out of rhythm and his legs were burning, but he was far too caught up in his thoughts to be bothered by any sort of physical pain. In his hand he gripped the Muggle newspaper, and every now and then he'd dart a glance towards the featured photo and grow more and more panicked every time.

He _knew_ that man — he knew he did.

And yet… He didn't.

Without so much as a pause in his stride, he unfolded the paper and held it out in front of him, completely forgetting that he was running down a crowded street, blind. His eyes tore through the article, catching a few words as he went along.

_…found dead around 12:30… daughter got home to find father on the floor… no signs of a struggle… no bruises or marks… cause of death unknown…_

Draco choked on the words he read, feeling dizzy and surreal. He folded the paper again and continued to run, his eyes wide and fearful.

_…daughter got home to find father on the floor…_

_She was late!_ his head screamed. She was at a party past curfew and he'd stayed up all night to wait for her. But not himself, the Muggle man — the father.

But he was _there_; he was in the room, pacing, waiting and filled with worry and anger for a daughter he never knew or had. Even now, if he tried very hard, he could still feel a bit of the father's anger deep in the pit of his chest. And the feeling of utter shock upon seeing a flash of bright green light.

He stumbled, tripping over his panic, and fell into the ground with a harsh sound. Too numb to feel the sting of pain, Draco quickly pulled himself up, pushing away the hands of the passer-by-ers that had reached out to help him. Wide eyes looked past the faces of concerned citizens towards the tall, ancient edifice that rose over the horizon, and he tore threw the crowd with a speed of a man running from death and wished for, more than anything, a broom to fly him towards his savior.

* * *

Sirius Black had always thought that once his name was cleared that he'd have absolutely nothing to do with the Ministry. Yet now he finds himself there more than his own home. With a long and suffering sigh, Sirius tipped back his chair so that his legs could cross over his desk, right on top of the papers he was supposed to be working on.

He left his flat some twenty minutes ago, professing a long night and mountains of paperwork to his flat-mates Harry and Remus, who were correct in blowing his bothered rants off for nothing more than a whining child who'd rather be off playing. Sirius was stung, downright insulted, when the two began to wager on just how long Sirius would avoid his work as they know he will. Remus was modest and only settled for ten minutes, while Harry went on to bet thirty. Glancing lazily towards his watch, Sirius was determined to go on for another twenty, far too stubborn to let either men win.

A desk away, his co-worker let out a subtle, "Psst!" that Sirius would not have noticed if he had been actually working. Sirius turned an indifferent gaze towards Len Something-or-other, a stout little man with a fast receding hairline.

"Did you hear?" Len asked conspiratorially.

Normally whenever Sirius engaged in conversations with Len, many precious minutes of just plain doing nothing were wasted, and Sirius was usually left with far more knowledge of England's best fishing spots than he would have liked. However, pure boredom egged him into asking, "Hear what?"

Dark beady eyes turned this way and that, paranoia creeping out of the man's bald-spot and he inched closer. "The Prime Minister Flooed."

Interested now, Sirius swung his feet down and turned fully towards Len. "_The_?"

Len nodded his round little head. "Over half an hour ago," he whispered, "and word around the cubicles is that they're still talking."

Sirius stared, processing the information. The "they" Len was talking about was the Prime Minister and Sirius's boss, the only person the Prime Minister had direct contact with (not even Muggles could tolerate much of Fudge). He was a large, brick-wall of a man whom Sirius affectionately referred to as 'Boss Man' because his real name was far too long and complicated-sounding for Sirius to bother to learn.

"Any idea why?" Sirius finally asked, but Len only shrugged his chubby shoulders.

Len shrugged. "I hear they're discussing the coming elections."

Sirius frowned, doubtful. "That's not important enough for the Prime Minister to bother Flooing over. No, it's got to be big — for what other time has the Big Guy ever called Boss Man for?"

Len flushed embarrassedly, his bald spot taking on a lovely shade of pink. "Er, only once that I've known of… When, ah… When you…" Len made small, helpless gestures with his hands. "Well, when you got loose, mate." He let out a nervous little chuckle, looking like he regretted ever initiating the conversation.

Sirius's arrest and clearance were still very vague to those who didn't have a part in it, so any mention of it usually ended with embarrassed flushes and nervous chuckles.

At the moment, Sirius was too absorbed in his thoughts to notice anything, and settled for frowning thoughtfully at nothing in general. "No one's escaped from Azkaban — we would have been informed of otherwise. So it must be something else. Something that the Prime Minister would be worried over…"

"Maybe one of our own got a bit wand-happy and transfigured his kid into a rabbit?"

Sirius shook his head, black tresses spilling from his ponytail and whipping across his shoulders. "Nah, our guys here could cover that up easily. It has to be something bigger — something we can't cover up…"

Suddenly there was a long crash of a door hitting wall, and Sirius and Len looked up to see a tall man walk into their Department. The man wore all black, his stoic face hidden behind dark sunglasses, and a head of hair buried beneath a jet-black hat that looked like a mix between a wizard's hat and a fedora. He made a direct beeline towards the Boss Man's office, opening the door just as loudly as he had entered.

There were a few moments of silence before someone let out a nervous chuckle, effectively breaking the tension and all office clatter resumed.

"An Unspeakable," Len said in awe, staring at the Boss Man's closed door. "I heard the stories about these guys — real tough and private-like. In all my thirty years working here, I'd never been able to see one. My friend Remy said he tried to speak to one once. Said it was like trying to talking to one of the Queen's own guards."

As Len continued to stare off in awe, Sirius glared heatedly at his desk. Unspeakables were hardly ever called on for anything, and when they were, it was bound to be huge. Cursing beneath his breath, Sirius slammed a fist into his paperwork, wishing (not for the first time) that he were in the frontlines.

"I sure wouldn't mind being the walls in that office right about now," Len remarked lightly, before shrugging it off and going back to work.

Chewing on his bottom lip, Sirius nearly gasped when he had a sudden epiphany. With a triumphant smile, he tore open his desk drawer, hoping with all his might that he had not disposed of his Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes gift bag.

* * *

Deputy Headmaster Severus Snape had always been a solitary man, preferring the company of his potions rather than bother with any other life form. He supposed that was how he had gotten to be such a bully magnet when he was in school, but an indifferent sigh disregarded all thoughts of bitterness towards the subject.

He stood on his own, unmindful of the winter wind whipping across his form. Dark, cloudy eyes stared down at the headstone just a foot away from him, its shiny marble surface glinting lightly against the pale December sun. Behind him stood the Hogwarts school, feeling like an overbearing shadow looming over his shoulder.

He sighed — he'd been doing that a lot lately.

"You foolish man," he found himself saying, bowing his head so that his eyes hid behind dark bangs. "Stupid…"

The headstone before him glinted, like wise old eyes winking mischievously. Snape glared at it as if it were the cause of all his problems. "Stubborn old cad," he spat out viciously, but his words were tinged with sorrow. The headstone was silent, and Snape felt his body shake with despair. "You should have told us… You should have let us help you." He let out a harsh sound, sounding somewhere between a chuckle and a cough. "It's a wonder why you weren't in Slytherin," he said, smiling ruefully. "You definitely had the pride for it."

Suddenly he seemed to remember where he was and would have flushed in embarrassment if he had been someone other than Severus Snape. He shook his head. "I've gone insane," he said with conviction.

"That much, I already knew," commented a weary voice.

Severus turned to see McGonagall walking up the hill behind him, looking the least bit winded from the journey. "It seems that characteristic is mandatory in order to teach at this school," McGonagall smiled at him softly.

"Indeed," Severus smiled wryly, his dark eyes finding the headstone again.

McGonagall watched him looking distant and thoughtful, with a sorrowful gaze of her own. "He would not want you to be this way, you know," she said finally. "I doubt he would have wanted to provoke such sadness."

Severus scoffed, his shoulders slightly trembling. "Then he should not have died."

"Albus knew his time had come," McGonagall went on gently, "he had accepted it — it's high time you did as well."

Severus just shook his head. "It's not that easy…" He sighed, exasperated. "You couldn't begin to understand."

"Try me," came the dry challenge. Severus nearly started, mildly surprised to hear such a tone in his superior, but went on before he could even realize he was speaking.

"He had… trusted me. Enough to give me a second chance, even when I had been so stupid. I never really thanked him, because I was too proud. Even when he'd been there for me, _believed_ me, for so many times. But now he's gone. Without even asking me if it was okay."

Severus stopped, shocked at his nerve. Did he really just confess his inner feelings to his colleague? Not even his _Pensieve_ knew. With an embarrassed flush, Severus dipped his head low, hiding behind his long bangs.

McGonagall made no sound as he did so and remained silent for what felt like minutes. "Albus was quite quick to believe in potential, even if you yourself did not think so at the time," she said at last, her gentle voice sounding odd against the low howling of wind. "I think he just believed you'd be okay…"

Severus only scoffed, and the silence settled in again. McGonagall listened to the wind, feelings its fingers graze against her face, pulling strands of her hair out of the bun she had tied it in. She could not believe it had only been a few weeks… Suddenly she smiled, a small, sad curve on her lips.

"Perhaps you're not as alone as you might think," she said softly.

Severus looked up and saw, to his surprise, a tall figure in black running the path towards them. Within moments the very distinctive path of white-blond Malfoy hair was bobbing towards them, silver strands glinting in the fading sunlight.

"Professor!" Draco gasped, stopping just a few feet away from him. He turned to McGonagall, looking flushed from his sprint, and gave a brief and rigid nod. "Headmistress," he mumbled, before turning back to Severus, an urgent look in his eyes.

McGonagall nodded towards him. "If you'll excuse me," she said breezily, and gave Draco an odd little smile as she began her way back to the castle.

"Is there something you need, Mister Malfoy?" Severus asked professionally, sounding as if his little emotional outburst had not just recently happened. "How is your mother?"

"She's fine," Draco said hurriedly, distracted. He brandished the rolled up paper in his hand, looking as if it was something more than it seemed. "I need to speak with you."

"Then speak," Severus said, turning to face him fully.

The young Malfoy glanced at his surroundings, gray eyes falling uncomfortably on the headstone. "Er, here?" he asked.

Severus gave the headstone a brief glance before nodding. "Is there a problem?"

Draco frowned, but shook his head anyway. "No sir. This is… fine." He shifted from foot to foot, rooting his eyes to the ground in front of him. "I've never been here before," he admitted guiltily. He wanted to say he hadn't had time, that he was too busy with his mother, but the thought of lying made his chest ache.

"This is my first as well," his old Professor told him, alleviating some of his guilt. Draco just nodded, and glanced at the headstone again. It was a large form, reaching his rib cage if he stood close enough, made of black marble. Silver words were etched along the surface, spelling out, _"Here lies Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Beloved Headmaster and Mentor."_ Towards the bottom was a quote in what looked to be old Latin, but Draco could not be sure. Whatever it read, he probably wouldn't have gotten it anyway.

"There was something you needed to speak to me about?" Severus prodded. "It sounded urgent."

Draco snapped his head towards him, blinking owlishly. "Huh? Oh — yes!" He thrust out his hand again, newspaper clutched between his white-knuckled fingers. Severus stared at it, not quite sure what he was supposed to do. "I had a dream again," Draco said, barely above a whisper. His eyes were wide and panicked, his hand was shaky.

"A dream?" Severus asked, frowning. "Like before?" Since the October Incident, he just couldn't be sure of anything anymore…

Draco shook his head. "This one's different — more real, practically tangible. I dreamt I was this man…" He unfolded the newspaper, holding out the page with the photo so Severus could see. "_This_ man."

Severus scrutinized the page, eyes squinted in thought. "How exactly — ?" Draco was talking before he could even finish his sentence.

"I was him! Right before he died — I felt his anger — his daughter was late — _my_ daughter! — and then this figure came — a Death Eater? I couldn't tell, but it _killed_ him — killed _me_ — with the killing curse, just the other day — and now it's in the newspaper — well, not _our_ newspaper, a Muggle newspaper — _Muggle_ — Him! Me! A Muggle! — he's a Muggle and he's dead!"

Draco had said this all very fast, and by the end of it, his train of thought just seemed to collapse, and his energy along with it so he stood there, winded and wobbling on his very tired legs.

Taking the paper from him, Severus 'hmmed' thoughtfully. "And you're quite sure — ?"

"_Positive_," Draco said, with so much conviction that any sort of strength that had been keeping him up Disapparated, and he stumbled forward, falling into the surprised arms of his mentor. "Sorry," was all Draco could muster before promptly falling into unconsciousness.

When Draco awoke, some moments later, he found himself victim to a throbbing headache, his mouth dry and his vision blurred. With an involuntary grown, Draco tried to sit up, only to realize he was already in position. He blinked and the unmistakable form of his Potions professor materialized a few feet away.

"P-Professor?" he called out, his voice cracking. His hand went up to nurse his throat as the deputy Headmaster turned to face him.

Severus regarded Draco will a calculating stare, sending a chill down the younger boy's spine. "You're awake," Severus stated, sounding neither relieved or dismayed by the conclusion.

Draco could only nod and Severus turned back to what he was doing. With a bit of effort, Draco managed to crane his neck around the professor's towering form. He was hunched over a cauldron, pewter from what Draco could tell, with one hand stirring a wooden spoon while the other threw in a sprig of what Draco suspected to be rosemary.

Draco withdrew back into his seat, suddenly feeling like he was a young child waiting in the doctor's office only to be told he was suffering from a very bad, very incurable disease.

He cast his first look around him, the tall stone walls and ingredient books immediately triggering a memory from his earlier days in school. He was in the professor's office — an office of a Potions Master. Shelves lined the walls, littered with books and bottled ingredients, their labels written in the same loopy handwriting he was all too familiar with. The seat he was currently sitting on, a large, overbearing giant of an armchair that had once swallowed his small childlike body, was Severus' own — his very favorite, in fact. It was everything his professor liked — black, intimidating, and highly uncomfortable. Directly in front of him was a desk, one the owner was currently using to hold up his cauldron. White, odorless steam wafted from the brew, engulfing the face that hovered meticulously over it.

"You're far too much trouble than you're worth," Severus sighed gravely, before ladling some of the brew into an empty goblet. He held it out to Draco, who took it without question.

"You always tell me that," Draco muttered tiredly before downing whatever liquid was in the cup. Then he choked, his eyes welling up in stinging tears. "Ugh!" he held his arm out. "What _is_ this?"

"Remember Pectoralis Daemon?"

Draco nodded, frowning at the memory.

"It's the exact opposite, for your dreams."

Draco stared. "So instead of subduing my inner demons, it's going to evoke them?"

"Your dreams," Severus amended with a wagging finger. "Your spouting nonsense wasn't much help, I'm sorry to say, so I thought I'd take matters into my own hands. Don't worry," he added, seeing the anxiety on his pupil's face, "you won't feel a thing."

But Draco wasn't listening. In the back of his head there was a low buzzing sound that made his ears itch, and suddenly he felt his body pulled back, like an invisible force had wrapped itself around his waist and tugged — hard. Worlds of colors flew past him before he suddenly halted, like time itself had stopped for just that single moment.

He was standing now, in the middle of a living room. A very familiar living room where an even more familiar middle-aged man was currently sitting on his armchair, newspaper in his hand. High on a wall, a cuckoo clock ticked away.

Draco would have gasped if he had the strength to.

"How peculiar," mused Severus, who had suddenly appeared beside him. Draco stared, open-mouthed, too numb to feel surprise. Severus turned to him, looking quizzical. "This is your dream?"

Draco nodded. "Only — " He stopped to swallow the lump in his throat. "Only I was him."

"You saw through his eyes?" Severus asked, as he watched the man begin to pace.

"No," Draco shook his head, looking ghostly. "_I was him._"

Suddenly there was a very distinct sound of floorboards creaking, and Draco whirled around in fright. "Oh no — " He turned back to the man, holding his arms out as if to hold him off. But the man had already heard it was on his way to the front door.

"No — !" Draco shouted, trying in vain to grasp hold on the man's arms, only to have his hands slip through.

"…Who're you?" the man was asking. "How did you get in here?" He'd seen the figure; it was raising it's hand…

"_NO!_" Draco shut his eyes, but it was no use; even through his eyelids, the green light was still so bright.

Then suddenly everything dissolved and he was back in the office, in the seat, with his mentor standing just where he had been, now with the Muggle newspaper in his hand. Draco sat, wide-eyed and breathing hard, feeling like he'd just run a marathon.

"Very peculiar," Severus murmured to himself as dark eyes scanned the front page.

Draco raised a shaky hand to cover his eyes. "I think I'm going insane," he said as he released a wavering chuckle. He looked up in surprise when Severus had answered, "Perhaps."

"Sir?"

Severus gave him a deep, meaningful look before turning away to clean up. "Go home, Mister Malfoy," he said, without look up from his task. "Your mother must be worried sick."

Draco did not move from his spot, staring disbelievingly at the older man.

"_Go home_," Severus barked, his face an emotionless mask.

Draco stared, face crumpling into an expression of confusion and pain before getting up and running out in a flurry of dark robes.

From where he stood, supporting himself by the desk, Severus let out a heavy sigh. Then slowly he straightened and walked calmly towards the farthest bookshelf. He pulled out a large black book, its leather cover rotting in mold. He set the book down on his desk and opened it to a page near the back. He read the small print, his shoulders seeming to grow heavy with every written word. Finally, he'd found what he was looking for, his suspicions proven. His eyes stared at the large bold text at the bottom and the symptoms that followed it.

"Dear child," he whispered softly, mournfully. "What's happening to you?"

* * *

Sirius cursed under his breath as he fumbled with the Extendable Ears. _Buggers should come with instructions_, he thought miserably, as he tried in vain to listen to the conversation currently taking place between his boss and the Unspeakable. He was quite sure he was using the gadget correctly, but all he could manage to catch were muffled snippets.

The low tenor that drifted into his ears he quickly recognized as his boss's. "…just received information… murder… Minister believes… dark magic at work…"

A voice that sounded like sandpaper quickly replied, "…something about it? …just a hunch…"

"…more than that… proof… better safe…"

"Rubbish… Muggles too paranoid…"

"…similarities… cannot be ignored…"

There was a loud scratching sound before the reception suddenly cleared up, and voices boomed into Sirius's ear.

"Inform your men," came his Boss's unwavering voice. "Your mission begins at daybreak."

"You're making a mistake," was the Unspeakable's urgent reply. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named could not have possibly risen again."

There was a moment's pause and Sirius held his breath. Surely he wasn't hearing right…

"I just look at the facts," his Boss finally replied. "And right now, the facts say that a Muggle man died from the killing curse last night — the same killing curse that killed the Riddles over sixty ago." There was a scraping sound and a click; his Boss had stood up from his seat and opened the door.

"Now brief your men."

* * *

Thanks to all who replied. Sorry to keep you waiting.  
**remebrances** , **bigreader**, **Joya**, **Twerksie Gogara Relffin**, **Eiko**, and **Spinn**. 


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